


Who Are You (When the Lights Go Out)

by EmeraldSage



Series: The Holiday Collection [19]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, M/M, Prompt Day 19: Snowed In, RusAmeHoliday, Seasonal Affective Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 23:34:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8917606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldSage/pseuds/EmeraldSage
Summary: RusAme Holiday Prompt #19: Snowed In





	

**Author's Note:**

> America has Seasonal Affective Disorder in this fic. It's a really common disorder, that has to deal with moodiness and depression during the winter months. An average of 3 million cases emerge every year in the US alone, and it afflicts people of every age, but are generally more recorded after 14 and up. A lot of the symptoms - fatigue, hopelessness, depression, and the withdrawal from social activity - can be treated with phototherapy, talk therapy, and some medication. It usually only lasts for a few months, and is self-diagnosable.  
> I'm going off on a lot of what I read on medical websites, and from what I've heard about it. If anyone has any corrections to make, please don't hesitate to message me! Also, I don't clarify in the story that this is what is afflicting Al, but this is what it is.  
> Thank you! Enjoy the story!

            “Oh _god_ , this is going to be a disaster,” America moaned to himself, staring wide-eyed at the chaos that was unfolding within the meeting space. They’d only just received news that the snow storm that had begun while they’d been at the convention space had officially been upgraded to a blizzard. And while they’d been screaming at each other, playing with each other, and essentially generating chaos as they always did when their bosses sent them to their ‘meetings’ as a way to get them away from _everything else_ , they’d been snowed in. He thanked every deity he knew the name of, and some he didn’t, that they hadn’t been in his country when it had happened. He knew the first person they’d go after in that case would be him. Unfortunately (not for him), it had been Canada who’d volunteered to host the December holiday meeting. Poor Canada.

            Another thing that had the nations up and about, buzzing in annoyance and barely suppressed anger was that the meeting hall they were stationed in was a block away from the hotel they’d been booked in. Apparently, there had been an incident in the scheduling early on, and they hotel had double booked the conference hall in their hotel. When the realization came about, they’d given the reservation to the prior booking, telling their poor nation, quite apologetically, that he’d need to find a different hotel for the conference space. Canada had ranted about it for over an _hour_ over the phone, right after the incident had occurred, trying to figure out what he was going to do and how he was supposed to find a meeting space in such a short time span. He’d recommended a convention center nearby, or maybe another hotel? And Canada had miraculously found one within less than a block distance from the hotel. It had been godsend, they’d both thought then.

            But with the level of snow outside? Even if they’d managed to escape the meeting hall, they’d never be allowed into their hotel.

            He bit his lip and slumped slightly in his chair. The staff at the convention center were being as helpful as they possibly could be – genuinely at that, which was always appreciated, especially when they had as much right to panic as the nations themselves did. They were bringing out emergency blankets, throw covers, and anything they could possibly find to cover the lush carpeted floor of the meeting room and the adjacent rooms, so all the nations could find somewhere to sleep. Thankfully, they’d hired catering for dinner, which had yet to be served, so they could adequately ration out the food amongst themselves and the staff, who’d been very helpful when stuck in the exact same predicament. They’d kept the cast iron, never-filled stomach of America in mind, so they had _plenty_ of food to go on. They’d all be moderately warm, even if the snow knocked out the power; the convention center had their own backup generator, and they had a _ton_ of emergency blankets. And really, most nations were already settling down for the wait, plugging in their electronics to charge so they could stay updated and as far from bored as utterly possible.

            That wasn’t what had America worried.

            Every nation was assigned sleeping quarters when they traveled abroad, whether it was as fancy as a hotel room, their own temporary apartment, or as bare minimum as their own tent on the battlefield. They never shared. **_Never_**. Everyone – their bosses, their people in the know, and their fellow nations – accepted that each nation had their own habits, which included their sleeping habits. And many nations, if not all of the, suffered from the memories of war, chaos, and revolution that haunted their histories and would never let them go. Most of the time, this wasn’t an issue. When sleeping, however, nations never bore their masks; their silly little habits and coping mechanisms didn’t exist in their sleep, even if they had their own way of dealing with their memories. Sharing quarters with a nation while they were sleeping was tantamount to a declaration of keen friendship and deep intimacy, however platonic or non-platonic it may be. England had always allowed America to sleep with him while he’d been a colony; in fact, England had later told him, drunkenly, that America’s innocent presence had often driven the elder Empire’s nightmares away. Their familial relationship had developed so that their presence calmed each other. And it appeared that, even centuries later, with various wars and estrangements, that was still in affect.

            But now, all the nations would sleep in the same hall, uncovered by walls or flimsy doors. He could already see the anxiety developing within several of the nations. And even then, if the all sleeping in close proximity with each other wasn’t enough, America had never let anyone see him before his morning routine. And he did, much to England’s surprise when he’d come over once, have a very strict one.

            His usual morning routine involved his usual laze in bed for half an hour, followed by stumbling downstairs for a full pot of tea (which he hid whenever he had company around), back upstairs for a long shower until the point he could feel the heat sinking into his bones and warming the almost permanent chill that sometimes settled into them, and then back downstairs, still in pajamas, for a full breakfast. By then, he was fully established in his usual happy-go-lucky, obnoxious persona. Any time before that….

            Most nations thought he couldn’t be quiet, couldn’t be sensitive, couldn’t be _dangerous_ except for in the way he wielded power so carelessly. How would they take finding out that before he got a handle on his usual persona, it was _everything_ he was?

* * *

            Night had fallen quickly, especially given how far north they were during one of the coldest months of the year. The solstice was approaching, so they knew their daylight hours were vastly restricted and took the bedtime call with due grace.

            Some people had to separate England and France, though, after the night call had been made and consensus garnered.

            America had curled himself against a tiny corner of the wall, which he had a feeling had a radiator on the direct opposite side given the warmth it was giving off, and wrapped one of the blankets around himself. He’d tugged his bomber jacket off of himself and used its furry comfort as a pillow and a shield simultaneously. The blanket should hide the slenderness, along with the skinniness they wouldn’t expect. His mind wandered towards the pills in his bedroom, and bit his lip, knowing he wouldn’t be able to take them anytime soon, and hoping that the dose he _had_ taken would be enough (and already knowing it wouldn’t be).

            He sighed into the rapidly chilling air as all the lights went out, and hoped morning wouldn’t bring about disaster, before he slid into sleep.

* * *

            A few hours into the nations’ sleep, a figure stood from his section of the floor. Carefully, cautious to avoid disturbing a single breathing nation in an effort to keep his actions unencumbered, he moved towards what appeared to be a nation-burrito. A nation had wrapped themselves completely in a blanket, with only their hair sticking out of the roll of fabric, settled comfortably on the familiar brown fabric of America’s bomber jacket. The nation standing sighed, and resettled in a way that he could pull the younger nation closer to his warmth. He and America had been in a relationship long enough that he knew all the signs of the younger nation’s approaching meltdown. It certainly didn’t help that it was December, and he _knew_ that the medicine America was supposed to be taking to keep his emotions and his drive stable, at a level he could at least fake it for the rest of the world, was in his room.

            Come morning, the world would find America quiet, somber, and as deadly as any superpower could be when prodded, if he didn’t intervene as much as he could. And that was something neither party wanted to happen.

            As he settled further, the younger nation seemed to relax in his burrito roll, curling into the elder nation instead of trying to become one with the wall. The elder nation latched an arm around the younger, anchoring him tightly, and sighed. This wasn’t exactly how they’d planned to out their relationship to the rest of the world…if it had happened at all, that is. But, oh well, things happened.

            _We will deal with it in the morning_.

* * *

            Centuries of waking before dawn instilled a hard to break habit, it appeared. England, as usual, was the first to rise. The pre-dawn was still gleaming outside the meeting room doors, but he could already feel his rigid routine waking him from the insufficient sleep he’d had the night before. He felt oddly rested, in spite of how tired he was feeling (he hated to be so contradictory), and hadn’t suffered a single nightmare, despite how gathering with all the nations seemed to provoke them. Then he remembered, rather blearily to be honest, that America had taken refuge near him, closer to the wall, and the mystery of his lack of nightmares cleared up instantly. The younger nation had always managed to calm him, even when they were at odds.

            He blinked his eyes open in the darkness, and nearly shouted when he saw France sleeping – drooling, he was gleefully pleased to note – only a foot away from him, but managing to restrain himself from waking the rest of the nations. He would be facing some very nasty tempers if he woke them all now, so early in the morning, before sane people would even _call_ it morning.

            He scooted away from the frog, sitting up and blinking at his surroundings blearily, idly wondering how close America was since his night had been rather restful for all that it had been ache inducing and insufficient.

            Then his eyes landed on the back of a familiar beige coat, whose arm was wrapped around an unfamiliar burrito-wrapped nation with _very_ familiar facial features and hair. And, of course, an absolutely _unmistakable_ cowlick.

            …

            It was early. It was _too_ early, apparently, if he was already hallucinating things.

            _I’m going back to sleep_.

            And he proceeded to do so, hoping the world would make more sense when he woke up.

* * *

            But despite his remarkable, and rather uncharacteristic reaction, England’s observation had not gone unnoticed. Russia had woken the moment he’d felt England’s eyes on his back, and had known _exactly_ what the other nation had been seeing. When he’d heard England drift off, dismissing the entire occurrence as a hallucination rather than reality, he’d released a sigh of relief.

            He knew that there were other nations awake right now, though they were probably feigning sleep, or trying to get in a few more hours while there was such a delightful silence draped amongst them. He’d have to be careful on how he proceeded from here. His grip tightened around the younger nation, and he felt his heart soften regardless at the soft, barely audible whimper that had made its way into his ears. Winter, especially this far north, was a really bad time for his _solnyshko_. It really was.

            Suddenly, the door to one of the rooms opened, and a young human attendant walked in nervously. Her eyes searched the throng of nations before she caught sight of him, eyes open and assessing her presence. She recoiled for a second – the standard reaction most humans not from his country had to him – before she steeled herself and made her way over. He adjusted himself to sit up properly, as she knelt besides him.

            “Sir,” she whispered, voice low enough so it wouldn’t carry, “they’ve cleared a path to the hotel, if you would like to move over. We don’t know how long the pause in the storm will last, so we’re trying to get anyone awake over to the other building before the rest of the storm comes down on us.”

            He blinked, startled. How fortunate a coincidence, he thought. He wouldn’t have to worry about the world’s reaction to their relationship just yet. And he wouldn’t have to deal with an America without his routine, either, if he got both of them back to his room before the younger woke up. He nodded his ascent to the younger woman, before he added, “Allow us to go first, before you wake the other nations. I know some are awake in the other halls, but it would be best to wait until they are ready to rise.” It was only common courtesy, after all. It had absolutely no relation to the idea that if they were to wait to wake the other nations, none of them had a chance to see America and he so close together, in such an _intimate_ position.

            She nodded her acknowledgement, and directed them up. He wrapped his arms around America, whose things were all tucked away in his bomber jacket, which he slung over his shoulder. Shifting the younger nation into a bridal carry ensured the younger remained asleep while he moved them, and didn’t risk exposing the younger if he shielded his face _just so_. The attendant led them out and shrugged on a large parka before directing them across the snow strewn street making sure they were alert enough to keep watch for the icy patches on the ground.

            But within half an hour, they were back in the hotel. The attendant waved goodbye rather cheerily, before hopping off to help someone else. He took America back to his hotel room, where he’d been keeping spare pills and coffee for the blond in case of an emergency – well, you can’t say he wasn’t well prepared – and settled back into bed.

            He slipped back to sleep within minutes, and wrapped in the warmth of the hotel room, the blankets, and his lover, America slid into a more peaceful rest than he had been before.

* * *

            Eventually, all the nations made it back to their respective hotel rooms and waited out the blizzard in the comfort of their own spaces. They had plenty of food, plenty of space, and plenty of warmth; they were all okay, even if they were whining or complaining. England had staked out America’s hotel room the moment he’d been escorted back, only relaxing when the startled nation had invited him inside. He’d murmured something about hallucinations when America asked. France snorted.

            America had woken in Russia’s arms, startled but not annoyed. He’d taken his pills, had his coffee, and the larger nation had hardly protested when the younger stole his shower (especially when he was dragged inside to share it). He would be fine.

            And his secret (and _their_ secret) would stay secret, for at least another day more.

            [Tomorrow was a whole different story.]


End file.
